


Of Monsters and McGuckets

by Missintroverted



Series: Mystery Trio AU [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Monster Falls (Gravity Falls), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Decisions, Blood, Fiddleford McGucket Needs a Raise, Fluff, I Live On the Edge Tonight, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mystery Trio, Not Beta Read, POV Fiddleford H. McGucket, Swearing, You Know It's Bad When The Man Who Built A Murder Robot Is The Voice of Reason, Young Stan Twins, fiddlestan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missintroverted/pseuds/Missintroverted
Summary: Fiddleford just wanted to have his morning coffee in peace, but Gravity Falls and the Stan brothers had other plans.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket/Stan Pines
Series: Mystery Trio AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878319
Comments: 37
Kudos: 73





	1. A Gargoyle and a Sphinx Walk Into a Shack...

**Author's Note:**

> The point is, when it came to dealing with uncommon and frustrating situations, he usually managed to keep a straight head. But on one deceivingly lovely morning, just when he’d went out to the porch to sit back with a nice cup of coffee and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, he saw two large monsters sprinting towards the shack, and. Well.
> 
> It was only reasonable that he’d react the way he did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford really doesn't get paid enough for this.

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual. One had to be if they ever hoped to survive Gravity Falls, and, even more daunting, live with Stanford and Stanley Pines. Keeping them in line was an occupation in itself. His co-workers were two of the most chaotic and morally questionable people he’d ever met in his life. (Then again, as someone who had once made a giant robot to terrorize his ex-wife in an admittedly misguided attempt to get her back, maybe he shouldn’t be throwing stones in that last department).

The point is, when it came to dealing with uncommon and frustrating situations, he usually managed to keep a straight head. But on one deceivingly lovely morning, just when he’d went out to the porch to sit back with a nice cup of coffee and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, he saw two large monsters sprinting towards the shack, and. Well.

It was only reasonable that he’d react the way he did.

The first thing he did was spit out his early-morning coffee, ruining his only clean tie in the process. The second thing he did was dash into the shack like the Devil Himself was on his heels. Lastly, he slammed the door shut, locked it, and began combing the living room for the shotgun he knew for a fact Stanley kept around. He thanked the Lord Stanford wasn’t here, lest he’d be chastising Fiddleford for “harming” (defending himself against) a perfectly healthy specimen. Never mind the fact that half of these subjects of study had tried to eat him, no _sir_. Scientific discovery was _always_ more important.

(Sometimes, Fiddleford wondered how on God’s green earth Stanford Pines hadn’t fallen to his death into a ravine or some other nonsense in pursuit of an anomaly. Heaven knows the man, while undeniably brilliant, was severely lacking when it came to common sense).

A bang rattled the wooden door of the shack. Fiddleford yelped, dropping the pile of books he’d been in the process of moving in his scramble to find the gun. He eyed the secret lab entrance and wondered if the door would hold them back long enough for him to make a dash for it.

“Fidds, we saw you run in, will ya just open the door?”

Fiddleford froze. That voice, while even more gravelly than usual (a thing he hadn’t thought possible) was definitely familiar.

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he said, dazed, as he walked over to the door and unlocked it. “ _Stanley?_ ”

Upon closer inspection, he couldn’t deny that the square-jawed face that peered down at him belonged to Stanley Pines. There were some… _notable_ …differences, such as the fact that he had glowing orbs for eyes, all his featured seemed to be carved from stone, he had ridiculous pointy ears and fangs to boot. He’d be right at home next to the gargoyles from those pictures of cathedrals he’d studied for his _History of Western Art_ course.

“Took ya long enough,” said Stanley, ducking his head under the doorway and lumbering inside. Each step made the floorboard groan loudly, and for a few seconds, Fiddleford thought the man would break through the wood floor. “Thought we’d never get back.”

“Stanferd, do ya have… _fur_?” said Fiddleford, stepping away from the door to let the other man in.

Stanford—it couldn’t be anyone else, not with that straight-backed posture and furrowed brow peering over thick-rimmed glasses—walked in behind him, hands behind his back.

Hearing the question, Stanford adjusted his glasses, with a large, six-fingered paw. His facial features were lion-esque, as was his entire body, save from the colorful green, blue and red feathered wings that trailed behind him. He even had a cute little lion tail poking out from a hole in his pants. “It appears so, yes.” He cleared his throat. “We may have a…problem.”

Stanley, who had gone to the fridge to get a beer, came back glaring at Stanford with those bright yellow orbs. “No shit, Sixer. I hadn’t fucking noticed.”

Stanford’s ears flattened against his skull. Fiddleford would’ve found it amusing if Stanford wasn’t now 7 feet tall and didn’t have large, sharp teeth. “ _Language_ , Stanley.”

Fiddleford considered grabbing some alcohol as he took in the situation. After a few attempts at forming words, he finally settled for the question he found himself asking on a near-daily basis. “What in tarnation did ya two get yerselves mixed up in _now_?”

“Oi, don’t look at me,” said Stan. He jerked his clawed thumb at Stanford. “Mr. Science here was the one who just _had_ to walk right into a mysterious, glowing lake that he almost drowned in.”

Stanford’s tail twitched, and he growled. “We almost drowned, Stanley, because you turned into 300 pounds of moving stone.”

“I was only in the lake because you started flailing around growing a tail and screamin’ for help!”

Ford sniffed, chin held up in that way it got whenever he’d start getting defensive. “Swimming with wings is incredibly difficult.”

“Yeah, I would know, I _have them now_.” Stanley stretched out his bat-like wings for emphasis.

Judging by Stanford’s bloodshot eyes and Stanley’s slouched posture, along with the fact that they seemed even shorter with each other than usual, Fiddleford guessed that they’d been arguing on and off about this for a while.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now see right here, the two of ya best calm down, you’ll tear the shack apart if you start fighting bein’ like this.”

The two of them, while far from calm, quieted down.

“Right,” said Fiddleford. “So ya discovered some magic water that turns folks into monsters?”

“Yup,” said Stanley. “We found it in some hidden path behind some bushes and a couple of boulders.”

 _It’s almost as if it was hidden away for a reason._ “Did ya at least remember where the path is?”

“Of course,” said Stanford, having the audacity to look indignant. “What do you take me for?”

“An idiot who got us turned into two walking Summerween costumes because he couldn’t just collect the water in a cup and some gloves like a _normal_ scientist?” said Stanley.

“As if you would know what a “normal” scientist does,” said Stanford, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, fellas. Let me just get some food in me and then we can go back out and get some samples,” said Fiddleford. “I need me some caffeine to deal with this.”

Stanford opened his mouth but Fiddleford stopped him with the same withering glare he’d give his son whenever he tried to step out of line. “Stanferd Pines, if ya think I’m gonna run around the woods with the two of you, in this here state, on an empty stomach, yer sorely mistaken.”

“Fidds has got a point,” said Stan. “You probably haven’t had anything other than that piece of toast since you woke up.”

“I suppose some food wouldn’t hurt…” said Stanford. “I did have an incredibly strong urge to maul a deer we spotted on the way over.”

Fiddleford was getting some bacon out of the fridge when he heard the end of the sentence. He straightened up and slammed the door with more force than strictly necessary. “Y-ya did?”

Stanford seemed to come to the same conclusion Fiddleford had, because he raised his paws up. “Oh, n-no, rest assured. I don’t have any inclination to eat you.”

“Thank the Lord…”

“After all,” said Stanford, rubbing his chin. “According to mythology, sphinxes only consume humans if they are unfortunate enough not to know the answers to their riddles.”

“Don’t I feel better,” said Fiddleford, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do ya reckon ya can still have some bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” he said. “Oh! I must write down our findings in my journal. Now, where did I put it…” Stanford went up the stairs, muttering to himself the entire way.

“Ya know, he actually started running on all fours at least twice on the way over.” Stan grinned through another sip of beer. “was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Fiddleford sighed. That would explain the fighting. He rolled his eyes as he saw Stanley reach in the fridge for another can and shut it before he could. “Stanley Pines, it is 8 o’clock in the morning.”

“Ooh,” Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Two last names in less than five minutes, it’s a new record.”

“ _Stanley_.”

Stanley pouted, and even with his new…physical features, Fiddleford still found it endearing. “Aw, come onnnn, Fids, I’m emotionally distressed!”

“Yer no such thing.” He smiled a soon as back turned to the other man. He took out their skillet and placed it on the stove.

“Y’know, I gotta hand it to ya. You’ve gotten a lot more assertive since we’ve met, it’s kinda hot.”

“Yer flattery will not sway me into lettin’ ya get another drink.”

Stanley laughed behind him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still bein’ serious. Ford didn’t even try to fight you about getting breakfast. If it was me, he’d be yelling at me by now about how we were wastin’ time and crap.”

“It doesn’t take much for the two of ya to get at each other’s necks.” Fiddleford cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet. "Anyhow, that’s because he’s hiding away scribblin’ field notes. The moment he’s done, he’ll be tryin’ to drag us on out of here.”

“Eh, true.”

For a moment, the eggs sizzling and snapping on the pan filled the warm silence. His stomach grumbled as the savory smell of cooking food reached him. “Stanley, can ya hand me the coffeepot?”

The floorboards creaked behind Fiddleford. A shadow loomed over him. “Stanley?”

“…You’re not, uh, scared of me or nothin’?” Stanley’s voice had gotten so quiet Fiddleford had hardly heard him.

Fiddleford glanced back at Stanley, who despite his size was hunched over, looking mighty small for someone who was now a literal boulder.

“Why on earth would I be?”

Stanley blinked meekly. He gestured towards his entire body. “Uh…’cause I look like this?”

Ah. He _did_ try to threaten them with a shotgun. Some of the unease he’d gotten rid of returned, but he tried his best not to show it. He swallowed down his fear as best as he could. “Should I be?”

Stanley frowned. “Eh, I mean, I feel different, but not in a “eat somebody” kinda way. I do have a _very_ strong urge to perch on the roof and attack pigeons.”

“Fascinating.” Even without his caffeine, his scientific curiosity was finally starting to get the best of him. “Well, gargoyles are known as guardians meant to ward against evil. Perhaps you’ve developed some sorta protective instinct…”

He stopped mid-ramble. Even without eyes to speak of, Fiddleford could tell Stanley was avoiding his gaze. 

Fiddleford brought his hand to Stanley’s cheek. It felt warm, to his surprise, like a rock that had baked under the afternoon sun. Stanley peeked up at him. “Darlin’, the only thing I’m afraid of is the damage you’ll cause around the lab if we don’t turn ya back. Yer like a bull in a china closet as it is.”

Stanley chuckled, leaning into Fiddleford’s touch. “Somebody has ta make things interesting around here.”

Something crashed overhead, quickly followed by a string of curses. A series of heavy objects thumped against the wood overhead.

“I’m alright!” called Stanford’s voice. “I simply knocked a bookshelf over my person, but this new form is surprisingly durable!”

“Things are _interestin_ ’ enough as it is,” said Fiddleford, his brief moment of curiosity gone as soon as it came. “Where in tarnation is the coffeepot?”

“Relax, Fiddlenerd, I’ll make ya a fresh one.” He went over by his side, giving him a playful shove that sent Fiddleford to the ground. “…Oops. Sorry, uh, forgot about the whole…stone thing.”

Fiddleford glowered up at his boyfriend, taking his hand as he helped Fiddleford back up. “Yer lucky a got a soft spot fer ya, else I’d be mighty cross.”

Stanly gave him the gentlest peck on the top of Fiddleford’s head. “Once I have my human body back, I’ll make it up to ya.”

Stanley gave him a cup of his precious lifeblood, black with two sugars, just as he liked it. Smirking, Fiddleford took a sip, getting warmed by more than just the coffee. “I’ll hold ya to that.”

*

**Guess what, folks? This chapter already has fanart made by the incredibly talented[Honeye!](https://ho-ne-ye.tumblr.com/post/625027824332505088/of-monsters-and-mcguckets)**


	2. Monstrous Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan tries to talk, and Fidds takes an unexpected trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve decided to call the mysterious liquid in the lake Fluvius Cantatis,” said Stanford, ducking under a branch. “Judging by the fact that I saw a few deer drink from the lake and suffer no outward symptoms, I’m guessing the water only affects humans.”  
> Stanley walked right through the branch, snapping it by just walking into it. The man didn’t flinch. Heck, Fiddleford would be surprised if he’d noticed it.   
> “That’s mighty interestin’,” said Fiddleford. “Perhaps the water’s been enchanted? Or…cursed?” He shuddered at the thought. If exploring Gravity Falls had taught him anything, it was that curses were stubborn, tricky things that weren’t dealt with so easily.

Fiddleford usually made a point to ignore the way the Pines brothers acted on the rare occasions where they all shared a meal, despite the offense it was to his Southern upbringing. His Ma would’ve slapped him across the head if he didn’t chew with his mouth closed or say grace before every meal (a habit he kept even long after he stopped going to church).

He’d hate to imagine what she’d do if he ever ate like his two housemates. Stanley paid as much mind to table manners as he did the law, which was none. Sometimes he’d chew with his mouth open just to tick Fiddleford off, and even go as far as putting his muddy boots on the table if he really wanted to get a rise out of his boyfriend. On the other end of the spectrum sat Stanford, who either inhaled his food in a hurry to get back to his research or left it on his plate until it got too cold to eat while he made field notes.

Yet even those memories were not nearly as bad as the scene unfolding in front of him. Stanford had his paws splayed on the table, his face shoved on to his plate. Egg and grease smeared all over his mouth, and Stanford didn’t seem to notice. The silverware lay unused next to Stanford’s plate, jingling whenever he shifted to get a better angle.

Fiddleford held the edge of the table in a death grip to prevent his employer from tipping it over, and only for that reason. It certainly _wasn’t_ because he was getting very uncomfortable staring at those large, powerful jaws rip into his bacon with a growl, while he held it in place with one paw, like a lion would, he imagined, tear into a dead gazelle. Nor did it have anything to do with the earlier, far too casual comment about Stanford wanting to maul things.

Not at all. If Fiddleford happened to take a big gulp of coffee that felt like tar coming down his throat, that was just because of something else.

He took a chance to see how Stanley was doing. His boyfriend poked at his food with the edge of a claw, and Fiddleford wondered if he could even eat, or if he needed to in this form. Just as he meant to ask, Stan chewed his bacon, shrugged, tipped the contents inside his mouth, and swallowed his entire breakfast _and_ the ceramic plate with a loud crunch. And burped afterward.

Fiddleford quietly sipped the rest of his coffee for the remainder of the meal and made a note to avoid eating with them until they got turned back to normal.

After the ordeal that was breakfast, they finally began retracing their steps to the lake. The woods in Gravity Falls managed to have an underlying, buzzing energy to it. It felt as if everything, even the trees themselves, were teeming with life, a fact that used to fill Fiddleford with wonderment. However, as he became aware of the fact that not everything in the forest was as keen as respecting sentient life as he was, that excitement got replaced by the kind of dread that settled heavy on his shoulders and wouldn't be shaken off until he was back in the safety of their home.

Stanford was excitedly talking about the notes he’d just made as they walked. Even with his ever-present anxiety, Fiddleford still found himself listening to what little they knew of their most recent discovery. 

“I’ve decided to call the mysterious liquid in the lake _Fluvius Cantatis_ ,” said Stanford, ducking under a branch. “Judging by the fact that I saw a few deer drink from the lake and suffer no outward symptoms, I’m guessing the water only affects humans.”

Stanley walked right through the branch, snapping it by just walking into it. The man didn’t flinch. Heck, Fiddleford would be surprised if he’d noticed it.

“That’s mighty interestin’,” said Fiddleford. “Perhaps the water’s been enchanted? Or…cursed?” He shuddered at the thought. If exploring Gravity Falls had taught him anything, it was that curses were stubborn, tricky things that weren’t dealt with so easily.

“Both are a possibility,” said Stanford, nonplussed. “If it was, indeed, enchanted, then there’s a good chance that we may be able to figure it out with some study. I’ve learned a few spells from the walls of that cavern we explored while finding Mothman, so it may help us get back to normal.”

“I sure hope so,” said Fiddleford. “There ain’t no tellin’ what might happen if ya stay like this too long.”

“Yeah, like how I’m going to use the toilet when I’m a giant rock,” said Stanley with a smirk.

Stanford rolled his eyes and continued forward.

“Don’t be crude, Stanley,” said Fiddleford.

The gargoyle shrugged. “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He noticed Fiddleford adjust his backpack for the third time in the last minute. “You, uh, need help there, Fidds?”

“If yer careful,” he said, placing the heavy bag on the ground. Now that he was free of the weight, his shoulders began to ache something awful. Fiddleford cracked his back as he straightened up, groaning. For the fourth time that week, he thought about finally getting around to making that appointment with the town chiropractor.

“Jeez, what’re you carrying in this thing?” Stanley picked up the pack and flipped the top open.

Inside were two pairs of thick rubber gloves, a few beakers wrapped in bubble wrap, metal tongues, a thermometer, glass jars with lids and an entire hazmat suit that Stanley had “borrowed” from some godforsaken government facility one night he and Stanford had gotten while drunk out of their minds. (Those were the only details he'd been given in regards to what went down that night, and after careful consideration, Fiddleford decided that it was probably for the best that it stayed that way).

Stanley raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “A bit much, dontcha think?”

Fiddleford huffed. “One of us has to be careful. That lake don’t sit right with me, an’ it’s better if one of us isn’t affected by whatever yer afflictions are.”

Stanley swung the backpack over one shoulder. “Relax, I’m pretty sure ya gotta bathe in this stuff for it to do anything. Me an’ Ford jumped right into it.”

“We don’t know that,” said Fiddleford. “An’ I don’t want to take any chances.”

Stanley cast a glance at his brother, who was walking ahead of them, focusing on re-discovering the path they’d went on yesterday. He put a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. Even with Stanley being as gentle as could be, the weight of his hand felt crushing. He sucked in a breath.

“Sorry! Shit, I didn’t mean—”

“I-it’s okay. Yer just stronger than usual, s’all.”

Stanley’s joints made a grinding sound as he retracted his hand and let it fall by his side. He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m right here whatever happens, alright? And uh,” He cleared his throat. “If Ford gets carried away, just let me know and I’ll wrestle him back to the shack with us if I haveta.”

“I-I may frighten easy, but there’s no need to be tip-toeing around me as if I’m some sorta newborn kitten.” He forced himself to fake what he’d hoped looked like a reassuring smile.

Stanley frowned, and Fiddleford didn’t need a magic spell to know that the man disagreed. “Look, Fidds. I guess we haven’t really talked about this, an’ this might not be the best place to have this conversation, but…I can’t help but notice you’ve been more on edge lately.”

The way he said those things made the Southern man bristle. He crossed his arms. “I don’t follow.” Fiddleford’s tone was about as inviting as a grizzly bear in a picnic. “Whatever happened to me bein’ more assertive?”

“Hey, I meant that. But…” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. The friction made a grinding sound that only served to worsen Fiddleford’s nerves. “Fidds. Come on. You jump outta your seat if you so much as see a gnome—”

“Those little devils _kidnapped_ me, if ya haven’t forgotten!”

Stanley winced, probably remembering the “Gnome Incident”, as they all called it. It was a sore subject for Fiddleford. Not only did he get mistaken for a woman, but he also ended up getting dragged halfway through the forest by an army of small but astonishingly strong men while tied up like a hog. When Stanley and Stanford came to help after at least a half-hour of humiliation, they’d gotten so many bite marks and bruises from the whole rescue mission that they’d almost considered going to the hospital. The remaining shred of their dignities had been the only reason they hadn’t.

As if that all hadn’t been bad enough, the ropes had left some nasty cuts on Fiddleford’s wrists and ankles. It took weeks for them to heal, and to this day Stanley would still punt away any gnomes that were unfortunate enough to be in Fiddleford’s vicinity.

“Yeah, that’s my point. You’ve just been more jumpy, and…” Stanley seemed to be struggling to get the words out of his mouth. He was squirming where he stood.

In other circumstances, Fiddleford wouldn’t have given him such a hard time. Stan was being more open with his emotions, and that wasn’t easy for him. The young scientist just wished it hadn’t been this particular subject he’d decided to be open about. “An’ what?”

“Look, I’m getting’ kinda worried. You looked like you were about to have a heart attack this mornin’ when we came to the shack.”

Fiddleford set his jaw. “Is that what this mornin’ was? Ya thought that I’d still have my tail stuck between mah legs even after I knew it was you?” He hadn’t expected his anxiety to be so obvious, and now that he knew it was, it was like having someone tear his clothes off in the middle of the town. “Well, excuse me for exercisin’ some caution!”

Stan raised his hands at him, defensively. “Hey, that ain’t what I meant.”

Fiddleford squared his shoulders. “You think that just ‘cause I’m not as well-adjusted to this town’s _strangeness_ as the two of ya, I should just stay inside and have my nose in a book or tinkerin’ away while ya and yer brother do all the dangerous work!”

In actuality, the thought of him doing just that appealed to him greatly, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “I’ll have ya know, I’m an inventor! I’ve made things that could fry a man in two flicks of a lamb’s tail!”

Stanley’s brows furrowed. “I have…no idea what that means.”

“It means, _Stanley_ , that I ain’t some dainty thing that ya need to protect. I’m a grown man with a son of mine own, and I’m more than capable of lookin’ after myself!”

“Fidds, come on! Don’t be like that!”

But Fiddleford had stomped past Stanley, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He caught up with Stanford, who had just came across a couple of bushes that Fiddleford assumed concealed the entrance to the lake.

“Ah, perfect,” said Stanford, blissfully unaware of the tension between Fiddleford and Stanley (business as usual, then). “It’s right past here. Allow Stanley and I to go first. After all, we have already been exposed, and there’s—”

That was _it_. Fiddleford walked ahead, ignoring whatever was about to come out of Stanford’s mouth. Which was not, he quickly realized, an intelligent thing to do, as his next step sent him sliding down a steep dirt slope that had no business being there. 

The twins called his name somewhere behind him, but it was too late. He was tumbling down, the world a blur of browns and greens. He inhaled some dirt and coughed in a vain attempt to clear his burning lungs. Just as he thought he’d be doing this forever, he splashed into a body of knee-deep water and stopped moving.

And now there he was, on his hands and knees, looking like a right fool, in front of his boss _and_ boyfriend, no less. He sighed, bringing a shaky hand to his face, staring down at his reflection. The water had a strange purple hue. Wasn’t that just his luck that he wiped his face with water that had probably been contaminated or—

“Oh,” he said, staring at his palms. The skin began to tingle, glowing with a soft purple light. “ _Shit_.”

A headache that felt as if the Devil Himself had just driven spikes into Fiddleford’s head had him doubling over. The pain was strongest on the left and right sides of his skull. His legs ached, and his feet felt numb. He watched with detached, morbid fascination as they broke through his shoes and got longer, until he was staring, slack-jawed at a set of rabbit feet. He wiggled the toes, his brain still struggling to process his new, horrifying reality.

The entire bottom half of him was part hare, tufts of chestnut brown fur poking out of the waistline of his now torn-up pants. He tried standing up, gasping as his head swung back, heavier than he’d ever remembered it being. He quickly held it in place with his (thank goodness!) human hands. Licking his lips, he brought his hands up to the top of his head. His fingers caressed what felt an awful lot like two large antlers, and a pair of rabbit ears.

A jackalope. He was a _jackalope_.

Of all the things, of all the mythological creatures in all of existence, he was a goddamn _hare_ with antlers, because life had decided that Fiddleford McGucket hadn’t suffered enough today. The only solace he found was the fact that his face was still human, if the reflection of the lake was anything to go by, which was at least something. He’d probably drown himself right then and there if he had a rabbit nose or some other nonsense like that.

Fiddleford dragged himself out of the lake. The water didn’t drip or fall off his skin. Instead, his body seemed to absorb it. That wasn’t worrying at _all._

“Fidds, are you okay? Shit, hold on, I’m almost there!”

Stanley skid down the slope and ran towards him. His wings were raised off the ground so he could run without tripping over them, and his eyes glowed more intensely than he’d seen them yet. Stanford wasn’t far behind, his wings occasionally flapping to help him keep his balance.

The usual sense of relief he’d get whenever Stanley came to his aid was, to his increasing concern, being overrun by something else. It was like somebody had flipped a switch inside of him, activating a strong, fight-or-flight instinct that Fiddleford couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to.

Suddenly, his mind didn’t see Stanley Pines, his beloved partner, and Stanford Pines, his good friend and employer. All he could take in were teeth and jaws and claws that could gut a creature like himself in _seconds_. This new instinct was worse than any panic attack he’d ever had, his throat tightening, his breathing labored, his head throbbing, seemingly taking over his own body, which began to move as if on its own accord.

He ran back in the woods, getting as far away from Stanley as his legs would carry him, which turned out to be incredibly far, incredibly fast. His heart thumped against his chest as he kept moving forward, crashing through bushes, any coherent thought was far gone, replaced with the need to _get away now_.

Had he been in his right mind, he’d have noticed Stanley’s big, heartbroken eyes on his back until he was out of sight, swallowed up by Gravity Falls’ forest.

*

Stanford caught up to Stanley just as the latter watched his boyfriend run into the forest at a pace that would almost put Stan’s car to shame. He’d barely seen what Fiddleford had turned into after falling into the lake, but whatever it was looked like some weird bunny-thing that probably had little to no way to defend itself. Well, he guessed running like hell was a damn good way to defend oneself. Couldn’t argue with the results.

“Great.” Stanley held his head. “Just fuckin’ peachy.”

“That could have gone better,” said Stanford.

“You decide to become Captain Obvious today or somethin’?” snapped Stanley. He gestured towards the direction Fiddleford went. “How the fuck are we gonna find him?”

“Calm down, Stan. I have a plan.” Ford pushed his glasses up his nose. “Do you remember those microchips that Fiddleford made?”

Stanley stared at his brother as if he’d just started speaking another language. “Sixer, this ain’t time for your nerd talk, Fidds could get eaten by a mountain lion or bear if we don’t do somethin’!”

Ford glared at him. “This is why I’m bringing it up. Fiddleford it to help us track each other in the case that one of us gets abducted again.” Ford rummaged through the knapsack he always brought with him and pulled out a clunky metal remote with a glass screen. He turned it on. “Aha!”

“What?”

“It’s working magnificently! Fiddleford will be pleased to know that the remote has no problems picking up his signal.”

Stan loved his brother, he really did, but it was shit like his brother managing to be excited about some science gizmo while his friend was hopping around the woods in a panic that really tested his patience. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d also love to be alive to talk about it, so why don’t ya shut yer yap for five seconds so we can get him?”

Ford huffed. He stared back down at the screen. “He’s going towards the middle of the forest, so at least he isn’t near any caves.” He stopped talking, eyes widening. “We need to move. He’s coming across Manotaur territory.”

Stanley swore. “Then let’s go already!”

“Stan, you’re slower like this. You should let me—”

“Oh, hell no, Pointdexter. I’m not waitin’ here while you go off after him. He’s gonna freak out if he sees you alone.”

Ford opened his mouth, saw the expression that Stan had on his face, and let whatever stupid thing he was going to tell Stan, die. “Fine but try not to lose me. I’m going to have to…” He sighed. “Run on four legs.”

Even in his state of mind, Stanley couldn’t resist grinning. “Maybe this situation isn’t all bad.”

Ford took off his boot and threw it at his brother. It bounced off him. Stan didn’t even feel it.

“Fiddleford better be grateful for this,” muttered Ford as he freed himself of his other shoe and began to—there was no other word for it—gallop in the direction Fiddleford went.

Filing the mental image of his brother running around like a giant housecat for later, Stan lumbered behind him. He was determined to keep up, not wanting to waste more time.

*

Come yell at me about how I punished poor, sweet Fiddles on [Tumblr](https://introvert-no-chameleon.tumblr.com/)! Also, shout-out to everyone who gave me ideas for what monster Fiddleford would be! Ya'll had so many good suggestions, and it was hard to choose, but I finally stuck with a combination of [bluestuffeh](https://bluestuffeh.tumblr.com/) 's and [3HobbitsInATrenchcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HobbitsInATrenchcoat/profile) 's ideas. I decided to combine their two suggestions by making Fidds a Jackalope-Satyr. However, for the sake of simplicity, I will just refer to him as a Jackalope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this many people to be interested in this fic, nor did I expect it to be anything more than a one-shot, but I guess the power of Mystery Trio! Fiddlestan is just that strong. Expect some angst for the next chapter--I'm starting to get an idea of where I want this to go.


	3. Fear Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fidds plays tag, Stan cracks and Ford is just trying to deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Is this where you smelled it, Chutzpar?” The rumbling voice of Leaderaur seemed to shake the earth.  
> “Yes, Leaderaur!” said a deep, masculine voice. “I caught the scent of emotional issues, vulnerability and debilitating self-esteem.”  
> Well, he never.

Fiddleford didn’t know how long he’d be able to handle this.

His new senses had begun to overwhelm him; the sharp, fresh scent of pine trees was stronger than it’d ever been. The sound of small critters shuffling around the forest floor and the babbling of a river a few yards away sounded too close. Everything felt like too much and too little. He shut his eyes, trying to think of something to ground him, but his mind only went back to what had happened an hour ago.

He ran away from Stanley.

_He ran away from Stanley._

His darling had only been looking out for him, and he’d gone and messed up because of some childish pride. Stanley was right; he hadn’t been able to hold it together after all. For Heaven’s sakes, he was hiding in a bush. It didn’t get more pathetic than that. 

The truth was, he’d already known that he was over his head. He was nothing like the twins, and the transformation was proof enough. It made sense he’d be something this silly, and the Pines brothers would be two powerful beasts. After all, they were stubborn, strong-willed individuals. For all their bickering, when the two of them worked together they made a near-unstoppable force.

They didn’t need Fiddleford. By this point Stanford probably had him around out of pity, or because Stanley fancied him. Why else would they deal with such a whimpering, pathetic coward that ran away at the first whiff of danger, that constantly needed to be saved?

Something crashed through the trees a few feet away, shaking him out of his self-pity. A giant, black hoof, followed by another, came into view just a few feet in front of his hiding spot. Through the foliage, he could see a few more pairs of smaller hooves appear.

 _The Manotaurs._ Fifty-percent man, fifty-percent ox, and a hundred percent aggression. They were minotaurs, if minotaurs went around acting as if they had something to prove.

Judging by the large hoof, it was the leader, Leaderaur, a hulking mass of pure muscle and testosterone the size of their shack. Fiddleford had seen him once, when he and Stanford had gone to observe their behavior. He could still remember, in vivid detail, watching Leaderaur eat a smaller member of his pack just to assert his dominance. Despite being half of an herbivore, he clearly didn’t have an issue swallowing a smaller member of his species.

Even Stanford hadn’t wanted to stay after that.

Fiddleford kept his breathing as quiet as he possibly could in his current state, hoping he wouldn’t be heard. He began to hate his new sense of smell, because he could almost taste the sweat from where he was. The Manotaurs obviously weren’t as concerned about hygiene as they should be.

“Is this where you smelled it, Chutzpar?” The rumbling voice of Leaderaur seemed to shake the earth.

“Yes, Leaderaur!” said a deep, masculine voice. “I caught the scent of emotional issues, vulnerability and debilitating self-esteem.”

Well, he _never_.

“An excellent snack, then,” said Leaderaur.

Fiddleford squeaked. He covered his mouth, silently cursing himself a thousand times over. A hand grabbed him around his entire body and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed less than a paperclip.

He came face-to-face with two red eyes. Sleek black fur covered most of Leaderaur, making him appear more animal-like than the rest of the Manotaurs, who at least had mostly human features.

Fiddleford kicked at the giant hand that held him in place. It did nothing to deter the beast from keeping him in his grip.

Leaderaur sniffed Fiddleford. A hit breath smelling like rotting meat hit Fiddleford, stinging the corner of his eyes. “Hm. A jackalope. Interesting.”

“I ain’t no jackalope! I’m a human bein’, an’ I demand to be put down this here instant!”

Leaderaur growled, the sound rumbling through Fiddleford’s very bones. “I don’t like my prey to talk back. Especially not such a scrawny weakling.”

Now, if Fiddleford were living a different day, perhaps if he’d gone through less or wasn’t as upset, he’d probably still be paralyzed by the usual raw terror that seemed to lock his limbs stiff whenever he got cornered by a monster, and he probably woudn’t have been able to do much when the giant creature opened its jaws up and swallowed him.

But today hadn’t been a different day. Even on the day of the _Gnome Incident_ , Fiddleford had at least preserved some of his dignity by making it as difficult as possible for the gnomes to move him. The entire ordeal had finished in more or less two hours, including the part when Stanley had patched him up.

Today, however, had been the day where he’d gotten into a fight with his boyfriend, where he’d tripped and fallen into danger like some hot-headed hooligan, where he’d had to deal with the two brothers that just never seemed to get along, _damnit_ , not even for one day, where he now had to worry about getting _mauled_ because he looked like some carrot-munching herbivore and Fidds, frankly, had just about had _enough_.

With no small amount of effort, he took all the nervous energy coursing through him and forced himself to use it for something either than panicking. While Fiddleford didn’t have a robot or an invention on hand, he did have a nifty set of strong rabbit legs. So when Leaderaur began to open his mouth, Fiddleford kicked him in the eye with all of the energy he could muster.

The good news was, he was dropped, and he hadn’t been too high up. The bad news was, Leaderaur wasn’t alone.

Fiddleford had underestimated the power behind his new legs. He hadn’t poked the eye out, but it wasn’t in good shape either, seeing as he couldn’t open the puffy eye. Leaderaur roared, baring teeth at Fiddleford.

“Leaderaur!” The Manotaur with the red mane, presumably Chutzpar, pointed at Fiddleford. “The jackalope has struck against our leader! This means a fight…to the death!” A couple of Manotaurs began to surround him.

Fiddleford leaped over one of the Manotaurs. Another managed to trip him as he landed. Just as he made a grab for Fiddleford, he remembered his new antlers. He swung his head to the side, his teeth clanking against each other as he smacked his attacker away.

More Manotaurs began to run at him.

Fidds quickly started examining his surroundings, desperate to find an opening, but the Manotaurs had clearly done this dance before. They surrounded him on all sides, arms outstretched and ready to grab him. He may be faster like this than he was as a human, but he was certain they’d catch him if he tried leaping over them.

A Manotaur lunged at him. Fiddleford ducked under him. The man crashed into one of his companions, leaving the opening the man needed to get out, when one of them caught his leg.

“I’ve got him!”

Fiddleford socked him in the snout, drawing blood as his assailant howled. His hand cracked, and he was sure that he’d broken something, but he was too hopped up on blood-pumping adrenaline to stop now. He lowered his head, pointing his antlers at the remaining creatures. Another ran, and Fiddleford managed to knock him to the side with his antlers. The impact made his teeth knock together, but the fact that he’d just taken one more attacker out of the picture made it worth it.

How had he ever missed out on this? To think all this time he’d been taking out his anger on people in a machine when this felt so much better. No wonder Stanley loved boxing so much! Sweat poured down his face, his chest rising and falling. He stomped a foot onto the ground, startling the Manotaurs.

“Come ‘ere an’ get me, ya testosterone-poisoned hornswagglin’ hooligans! There’s more where that came from!”

The Manotaurs, who had begun their attack with confidence began to waver. For a glorious moment, Fiddleford felt confident that he would be able to get out of this after all.

A quick swipe from Leaderaur, however, slapped away his good mood and sent him flying into a bush. He hadn’t expected Leaderaur to recover so soon, nor for him to smack him as easily as Fiddleford would hit a fly with a newspaper. Thankfully, he didn’t feel like anything had broken (aside from his pride, which he figured was far gone by now anyway) but his body hurt, and he felt the sting of a few cuts on his body. To make matters worse, his legs were tangled in the branches of the bush.

The shadow of the giant creature’s arm loomed over Fiddleford’s hunched figure.

He winced, holding his arms up in a vain attempt to defend himself.

“FIDDS!”

A blur of grey knocked the leader down on his back. The ground once again shook, a canopy of dust engulfing the area.

Fiddleford heard a roar nearby. He couldn’t see much through the dust cloud, but he made out what he assumed was Stanford slashing at a Manotaur. Fiddleford took the chance to pull his leg out. He caught some confused Manotaurs unaware by swinging his antlers like the madman he arguably was.

He lifted his head to find the pack retreating. Leaderaur raised a closed fist, ready to bring it upon Stanley’s body. He froze, staring past Fiddleford and at Ford.

Fiddleford glanced at his friend. Stanford managed to look more intimidating than he had yet, teeth bared, claws digging into the earth, fur on end. Even with the comically out-of-place sweater vest he still managed to hold a commanding presence.

Fiddleford felt that instinct grab him by the throat again. He tensed, his legs ready to flee. 

Leaderaur choose that moment to fling Stanley off him and dash off after the pack, his thunderous footsteps fading as he left.

Fiddleford could only watch as the gargoyle crashed into the ground, making a concerning amount of cracking sounds as he hit the earth. He gasped once he noticed a series of thin cracks across the stony body.

The shock of seeing his boyfriend hurt jolted Fiddleford back to his senses faster than anything could. His mind cleared as much as it could when you’d just watch a loved one get slammed into the ground by a giant monster.

Ford ran towards his brother. “Stanley!” He went to Stanley’s side and begun to inspect the wounds.

Stanley groaned. He tried getting up with one hand as support but fell right back down with a hiss.

“You knucklehead!” Stanford helped him up. “You could’ve gotten killed!”

“It’s nothin’,” said Stanley with a grimace. “I coulda taken him down no problem if I had a few more seconds.” His eyes widened as he set his eyes on Fiddleford, his gaze softening. “Sides, he was gonna kill Fidds. Couldn’t let that happen.”

The tenderness in his voice made Fiddleford want to cry, but now wasn’t the time for it. “Ferget about me, yer cracked!”

“I’m what?”

Stanford frowned, wrapping an arm around Stanley to support him. “You’ve damaged your skin. Thankfully, you still seem to be in one piece. If you had been human…” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “We can discuss your recklessness later. Do you feel any pain?”

The gargoyle shook his head. “Nothin’ really, but I do feel kinda woozy.”

Stanford looked at Fiddleford. “Fiddleford, have you managed to regain control of yourself?”

The question hurt, but he knew Stanford hadn’t said it out of malice. Bluntness was just a part of who Stanford was. “As much as I reckon I can, bein’ like this.”

“Good,” Stanford began walking with Stanley. “I’ll need you to help. I can take most of Stanley’s weight, but I still need assistance.”

Fiddleford went over to his empty side. “Give me yer free arm, Stanley.”

“Ya sure?”

“Ask me that again and I’ll smack ya on the head.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he let Fiddleford take it. It was just as heavy as Fiddleford remembered, but he found that he could manage the weight a little better than before. Maybe there was something useful about this form after all.

“Hey, at least that’s over,” said Stanley with a chuckle. “Nice job scarin’ them off, Sixer.”

Stanford gave a goofy grin at his twin’s praise. “I think you did most of the work there, Stanley.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “The two of ya do make quite the team. Saved my sorry behind as usual.”

Stanley frowned, shifting to look at Fiddleford. “Hey—”

Stanford stopped abruptly. He froze, his grip on Stanley growing tighter. “Do. Not. Move.”

“What are ya…?” Stanley followed his gaze and clamped his mouth shut.

Fiddleford’s heart caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse at the creature in front of them, one that had somehow managed to stay perfectly still the entire time and blended with the deep greens of the mossy trees. It’s heavy, labored breaths were the only sound that could be heard.

It was tall, with mushrooms growing on its shoulders. It had hideous fangs jutting out from its bottom jaw, a muscular build, and green skin. Its glowing red eyes were fixed on the trio.

“Oh good Lord,” whispered Fiddeford. “What is that?”

“It can’t be…,” said Ford. “It’s the Gremoblin! I’ve only heard stories about it. Perhaps it isn’t hostile…”

“It has glowing red eyes, Poindexter,” hissed Stanley. “I don’t think it wants to sit down and play cards!”

The Gremoblin reared its head and roared at them.

“Run!” Fiddleford began tugging them away from the hulking beast just as it swiped its claws (why did everything in this god-forsaken forest have claws the size of knives?) where they stood moments before.

“Wait, at least let me take a moment to observe the creature for my journal—”

“Stanferd, I swear to the Lord above if ya dare to stop right now I will throw all yer journals into the Bottomless Pit!”

Stanford’s eyes widened, but at least he didn’t slow down, so Fiddleford considered that as good of an answer as any.

Stanley ducked as the creature swiped at them again. “I’m with Fidds on this one!”

“Alright, alright I’m running!”

“Then do it faster!” said Stanley.

“It’s difficult for me to run like this!”

A shadow flew over them. Fiddleford didn’t have time to register what it was until a boulder fell in their path. The three of them lost their balance and stumbled to the ground.

Fiddleford managed to spring back to his feet, but he couldn’t get Stanley to budge. The cracks on his back spread. “Stanferd, come on!”

Ford held his leg, wincing. “I think I sprang my ankle—well, I’m actually not sure if I have an ankle in this form—but the point is, I can’t move!”

The goblin-like creature went over to them, closing in.

Stanley forced himself to his feet. His lip twisted with pain, but he dragged himself in front of his brother, raising his fists. His stance didn’t have the confidence it usually had; he wobbled just enough for Fiddleford to notice. “Ya think ya can get to my brother? Not on my watch, bucko!”

“Stanley…” Stanford gasped as he tried, and failed, to get on his feet.

“I’ll distract Ugly here,” said Stanley, turning to Fiddleford. “Fidds, get Ford and get the hell out of here!”

Fiddleford didn’t budge. “I ain’t leaving ya!”

Stanley ducked as the monster tried to grab him. He threw a punch at its arm, sending it reeling back. “I’ll be fine! Just go!”

Fiddleford’s chest started to pound again. His arms were lead, his tongue felt fuzzy and his legs trembled, more nervous energy waiting to be unleashed, a coil waiting to unfurl.

Then the monster grabbed Stanley. Its eyes went from a deep red to yellow. It stared directly at his boyfriend, and Fidds could only watch as Stanley stiffened, jaw slack as if he was in a trance.

Then he screamed, and something in Fiddleford snapped.

Stanley Pines did not scream like that. He’d always put on a façade, and even at his most terrified he’d use his energy to fight back. He’d always smirk or wink back at whoever he was protecting, making bad puns as he fought his way out of a problem. Yes, he was a loud man, making his presence known in every room to an obnoxious degree, but he never screamed as if something was being ripped apart inside of him. He never cowered like Fiddleford, or even Stanford did on the rare occasion that he was afraid instead of fascinated.

The Gremoblin dropped Stanley like a dead weight. The gargoyle curled in on himself, trembling, wings covering him. He clawed at his face frantically. Fiddleford didn’t know if gargoyles had tear ducts, but Stanley sounded close to sobbing.

The creature walked towards Stanford, who limped towards his fallen brother, with murderous intent.

It should be noted, to anyone who is reading this, that while Fiddleford Hadron McGucket _considered_ himself to be a patient, level-headed individual, he was also a man who would go on a rampage whenever someone had earned his ire or broke his heart. At the age of twelve he wrestled a wild hog after seeing it make a beeline for his then-pregnant Ma and won, and he once fought off a grizzly bear with a banjo when it tried to attack Tate on their last camping trip. His wife had (once she talked to him again after the whole robot incident) lovingly coined this particular type of behavior as his “hillbilly frenzy mode”.

So it really shouldn’t have surprised Fiddleford as much as it did when he ended up steeling himself, ducking his head and charging straight at the creature that had lifted a large gargoyle with ease. But the thing about surprises is, even if one considers the possibility of one, it usually doesn’t dull the shock of going through the unexpected.

The creature had focused all its attention on the larger threat, and obviously hadn’t expected the scrawny man to do much, let alone stab him with a pair of antlers with a wild cry and enough force to knock the Gremoblin down.

Fiddleford hadn’t cut too deep, so he managed to retract his antlers a moment later.

The creature was quick to get back on its feet. Two wounds were oozing a dark green liquid that must’ve been the creature’s blood. It charged at Fiddleford, and he leaped over it, using its shoulder for leverage to get a higher jump. Glancing to make sure that the monster was away from the twins, he shouted at it.

“Is that the best ya got, ya white-feathered varmint? Come ‘ere an’ get me if ya want me!”

Fiddleford didn’t wait to see if it would follow; a roar confirmed that much for him. He let his legs lead the way, but while before he’d just throw himself into the wilderness, now knew exactly where he was headed.

The snapping of wood and thunderous steps behind him warned him that his opponent would catch up soon. Which was all well, since his destination was right ahead.

The Bottomless Pit had been one of those anomalies that they’d discovered when Stanford had, in an act of brilliance that Fiddleford used as yet another bit of proof on why Stanford could not be left unsupervised when it came to exploring the unknown, jumped in it. His employer, a man of 12 Ph.D.’s, had, upon dropping a pen and not hearing it drop, took a step forward and fell right onto the pit, taking Stanley and Fiddleford with him when they’d tried to save him.

It was in that traumatic turn of events that the trio had discovered what Stanford claimed he’d known all along: the pit itself wasn’t bottomless, and it wasn’t even a straight fall down. They’d been spit right back out of where they’d fallen in after twenty minutes of what should’ve been a straight dive to their deaths.

And that was more than enough time for the three of them to get away from this monster and back in the shack.

He let the Gremoblin close in. Just as it made to attack, he threw himself to the side. It fell in but managed to cling to the side of the pit. It began lifting itself back up, and that wouldn’t do at all. Fidds went to kick it in, but it held his leg in a vice and dug its claws into the meat of his calf.

Fidds howled, seeing stars and _all at once, he wasn’t at the edge of the pit. He was back at the shack, staring at the front door. He stared down at his normal, human legs._

_“What on earth?”_

_It was then he noticed the blood._

_It seeped through the bottom of the door, through the windowsill, dripping on the wood floor. Fiddleford stumbled back, hitting the ground as he began to crawl back. He got on his feet and almost tripped over himself as he punched the combination for the underground lab on the vending machine they kept in its place._

_Instead of swinging open to reveal an elevator, it just had three people stumble out of it._

_Fiddleford’s head spun, his hands flying to his mouth. Every person he cared about lay on the ground in front of him, his young son and the twins, covered in gashes, eyes vacant and cloudy._

But.

_They were gone, they must’ve gotten hurt, they weren’t careful—_

No.

They weren’t dead. This wasn’t any more real than the fear he’d carry with him each and every day, where he knew that one bad step could lead to a drop or an encounter with something volatile.

He felt it every day, and he figured it was about damn time he’d stop letting it control him.

He made himself to focus on the pain and collect thoughts like the fireflies he’d scoop up in a jar when he was just a youngling, on the hot June nights when the sun had just set.

_The image wavered then, a stone thrown in the water, rippling, disrupting._

He thought of Stanford’s relentless, if not at times foolish, courage that never stopped him from pursuing his passion.

_The bodies faded away._

He thought of Tate, his shy and curious boy, of the quiet days they’d spend talking about nature or fishing.

_The blood dried up, as if it never been there._

He thought about Stanley, always so brash yet so sweet, hardened by life yet able to still hold Fiddleford so tender all those nights, to be so gentle that it felt like Stanley carried his heart on the palm of his big hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. As if Fiddleford was worth that much to him.

He came back, a thunder-clap moment of disorientation as he tasted salt sweat and smelled the pine trees.

“Ya think I don’t know fear? Well, let me tell ya somethin’.” He grabbed a rock nearby. “Ya can’t scare a feller who is already scared outta their wits!”

He smashed it on its hand, and watched it plummet away, down and down, until he couldn’t see it anymore.

And only when he was sure it disappeared from sight did he allow himself to sit down and catch his breath. And laugh. And laugh and laugh until his belly ached and the high-pitched, manic sound bounced throughout the woods, a tension he hadn’t known he held released.

Once he managed to compose himself enough, he went back to where he knew the twins were waiting.

*

My [Tumblr](https://introvert-no-chameleon.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We as a fandom need more sassy Fiddleford complaining about Stanford's terrible life choices, and I'm here to deliver.


	4. Making Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fidds and Stan talk it out, and some feels are felt. There are also cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mattress that squeaked and groaned as he shifted on it while he got his bearings. The lamp was on, emitting a soft light that illuminated the face of the man who’d called his name. His Fidds, who still had those funny antlers and cute ears, and was, more importantly, okay.  
> “Oh, thank goodness….” His boyfriend held his hand to his heart, shoulders slumping with relief, eyes brimming with tears. He was about to let out the waterworks, and Stan wasn’t about to let that happen if he could help it, reaching to wipe the rims of his eyes with his thumbs.  
> “Hey there, Fiddlenerd.” He sounded like he had just gargled gravel, but at least he could still talk. His throat felt dry for the first time since he changed. “What I’d miss?”

_The snow crunched under Stan’s knees, soaking his pants and making the cold burning his skin. The pines that made up most of the forest towered over him more than he remembered, making it impossible to see more than a few patches of the inky, starless night sky. Snowflakes fell around him, their gentle descent a mockery to the cruel helplessness that was tearing him apart._

_He couldn’t get back up, despite his brain screaming at him to do something, because Fidds was right there, and he couldn’t lift a finger to help him, he couldn’t stop it._

_He couldn’t protect him—_

“…ley…”

_Wait. That was…but Fidds was in front of him—_

“…up…”

_He was—_

**“Stanley!”**

Stan blinked, gasping like a man who’d just gotten a gulp of air after almost drowning. He wasn’t in a forest, or anywhere outside, but in a warm bedroom. His bedroom, actually. He recognized the long scratch on the roof from that weird octopus thing that attacked them once. Crickets chirped outside, and one glance out the window confirmed that it was nighttime. A few stars hung on the navy blue sky.

The mattress that squeaked and groaned as he shifted on it while he got his bearings. The lamp was on, emitting a soft light that illuminated the face of the man who’d called his name. His Fidds, who still had those funny antlers and cute ears, and was, more importantly, _okay_.

“Oh, thank goodness….” His boyfriend held his hand to his heart, shoulders slumping with relief, eyes brimming with tears. He was about to let out the waterworks, and Stan wasn’t about to let that happen if he could help it, reaching to wipe the rims of his eyes with his thumbs.

“Hey there, Fiddlenerd.” He sounded like he had just gargled gravel, but at least he could still talk. His throat felt dry for the first time since he changed. “What I’d miss?”

Fiddleford sniffed. “Aside from ya bein’ the biggest damn fool to ever walk upon this here world?” There wasn’t any bite to it, although his waspish tone suggested Stanley would be hearing about this of the next few weeks.

Stanley chuckled. “Uh-oh. I’m in real trouble now.”

“Damn right ya are!”

“Y’know Fidds, you’ve been getting’ an awfully big potty mouth lately.”

Fiddleford snark back at him like he usually would. He didn’t even scold him. He just sat down at the edge of the bed, hands running through his hair.

Stan grabbed his hands before he ended up pulling at his hair, like he tended to do whenever his stress got too intense for him to handle. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m super sorry. Whatever I did—”

“What ya—Stanley, ya threw yerself at a monster expectin’ me an’ yer brother to up and skedaddle without ya! Then ya got yerself cracked!”

Ah. That explained the bandages and his aching back. “Hey, come one, I couldn’t risk ya or Ford getting’ killed. I thought I stood the best chance. How was I supposed to know that it had weird magic nightmare powers?”

“You were a wreck, Stanley! We thought—I thought that…ya weren’t gonna make it. An’ then I heard ya yellin’…”

It occurred to Stan right then and there that he had cried and curled into the fetal position in front of both of them like a giant baby. He groaned, covering his eyes. “I can’t believe ya saw that.”

Fidds sighed. He got in the bed and cuddled up to Stan. His hand went to his cheek. Fidds had heavy bags under his eyes, and he looked almost as bad as Stan felt. “It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of, darlin’. That creature’s neurotoxins do a number on ya.”

Stan, who had begun to pull his boyfriend closer, paused. He pushed him back far enough to look into his eyes. “How do ya know that?” He began scanning Fidds body for injuries and froze when he saw the bandages on one of his legs, stained with blotches of red.

Stan sat up, ignoring the first genuine wave of pain he’d felt since he transformed. “That thing—it. I’m gonna _kill_ it.”

Fidds huffed and pushed him back down, scowling. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s long gone, anyhow.”

“Wait. I was out for hours, an’ ya got hit with that magic mumbo-jumbo too. Why’re ya up?”

“Well, I shook myself outta it.”

Stan’s jaw fell open.

Fidds said it so simply, as if he hadn’t gone through the same experience, of feeling nothing but panic, being forced to watch a horror show as if strapped onto a chair, unable to do anything about it except experience his deepest fears manifesting right in front of him.

“Fidds. Come on, quit pullin’ my leg.”

“I ain’t.”

 _Sweet Moses_ , he wasn’t joking. “ _How_?”

His boyfriend’s face fell. “I know it’s hard to believe, Stanley, but it’s the honest truth.”

Stan remembered their conversation, and he wanted to kick his own stony ass for being such a fucking idiot. “Whoa, hold on just a minute there, Fidds. Let’s get some shit straight. I ain’t lookin’ down on ya. I never did. I guess I shoulda made that clear, but I ain’t the best with words.” He gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, to piece together something he could say that would get his point across. “Fidds, do ya know how it was around here before ya came around?”

The man blinked, obviously not expecting the question. “No?”

“Ford was barely able to get himself to eat. He was practically living off coffee and four hours of sleep a day. And don’t even get me started on how much he showered.”

“Darlin’, I have no idea why yer tellin’ me this, especially since yer brother still bathes every three days and sleeps every four if he can get away with it.”

“Believe it or not, used to be so much worse. And I promise there’s a point to this.” He cleared his throat. “He would get almost killed on a near-daily basis by some monster or lab accident. We were using so many first aid kits that we were buyin’ a new one almost every week. I was losing my mind just tryin’ to keep that dumb nerd alive, and we’d fight even more than we do now. Between that and boxing, I thought I was gonna go bald or somethin’ from the stress.”

Stan felt his lips curl up into a smile. “Then he called you. You an’ your banjo and weird southern talk. I’m not gonna lie, when I first saw ya, I thought, “this scrawny nerd isn’t gonna last a day”.”

“Thanks, hon,” said Fidds.

“But! I was wrong. Because before I knew it, Ford was gettin’ his science shit done even faster with another big brain helpin’ him out. I was able to sleep, an’,” Stan gestured to the room around them. “This place actually became livable!”

Fidds was smiling with him, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Aw, shucks.”

“My point is, Fiddlenerd, that if it weren’t for you, me and my brother would’ve killed each other by now or somethin’. Outta the three of us, you’re the one who has a head on his shoulders. We’re a team, and we need ya as much as ya need us. Hell, we probably need ya more. I…I know I do, at least.” He stared down at his own hands. “I’m sorry I ever made ya feel like I didn’t.”

Fidds held on of Stan’s big hands with two of his. “I was bein’ stubborn too. I shoulda just remembered that ya say what ya do ‘cause ya care about me.”

Stan glanced up at Fidds to see the man’s look of utter adoration, those big blues that made Stan’s knees go weak whenever he stared into them. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t be too worried. Especially not since ya did a pretty good job savin’ our assess today.”

“Actually,” said Fidds with a small cough. “I wouldn’t mind maybe talkin’ to Stanferd and maybe hangin’ back more when y’all go on monster hunts once an’ a while.”

Stan held his precious nerd close. “As long as you’re not always stayin’ behind. Don’t wanna haveta drag Ford away from giant goblins all by myself.”

Fidds chuckled. “Speakin’ of, he wanted me to get ‘im when ya woke up.”

Stan made no move to let him out of his arms. “Eh, let the idiot sleep, he needs it. ‘Sides, ya need your rest too, I’ll be here in the mornin’.”

“Oh, alright, but ya best be prepared fer him givin’ ya an earful.”

Stan would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t have weird glowy orbs that probably wouldn’t get the message across. “Not that. Anything but _that_.”

Fidds didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he was biting his lip, fidgeting like he always did whenever he had something to say and wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“What is it, Fidds?”

The man frowned, his Adam’s apple dancing up and down a bit. “…What did that awful thing make ya see?”

Stan felt sick all the sudden, his stomach (did he even still have one?) feeling as if somebody had pulled it out and was twisting it as tightly as they could. “Why do ya wanna know?”

“Ya just seemed to be in so much pain, is all, and…” He swallowed. “I…I saw you, and Tate and Stanferd had been—y’all were killed. Probably by one of them monsters, b-but…”

He squeaked as Stan held him as tightly as he could without crushing him against his chest. “ _Jesus_ , Fidds.”

Already Fidds was shaking, and despite his victory today, Stan knew how those things stayed with you, festering in some corner of your brain and jumping out when you least expect them to. He knew that it wouldn’t be something that would be forgotten any time soon. The man still got nightmares from his kidnapping, and that hadn’t sounded as bad as that shit. Stan began rubbing small circles on Fidds’ back. It was practically a reflex by this point, to comfort Fidds whenever he’d start having bad anxiety.

“It’s alright. I-I know it ain’t—it ain’t real.” He sounded more like he was reassuring himself than Stan. “I…I didn’t wanna see that, but I realized that i-if I wanna make sure that don’t happen, I need to be brave.”

Stan sighed. “You’re already brave, Fidds, and ya probably wouldn’t be so on edge if Ford an’ I weren’t always charging head-on into danger like a bunch of knuckleheads.” 

Fidds chuckled. “As if the two of ya would be any more careful if I asked.”

“If it means it’ll stress ya out less? Then fuck it, I’ll guilt trip Ford into being more careful.”

Stan knew that if he wanted, he could say he didn’t want to talk about what he saw, and Fidds wouldn’t push. That had been one of the many things he loved about the man, how he always seemed to know when to give Stan space. He knew that Stan would always come to Fidds when he needed to.

But Fidds had come clean, even when it got him all twitchy, and damnit, he couldn’t just chicken out now.

“You ah…you remember how my pa kicked me out after the…the thing with Stanford’s science fair project, yeah?” He pressed his wings close to his back. Just saying it made the memory come into mind, the hard shove onto concrete, his world destroyed in the blink of an eye as his pa’s red face and cold, beady eyes bore into him.

Fiddleford hummed, nodding. “I do.” The man’s shoulders were tense, and Stan already began to see the tell-tale signs of the thunderous rage in his boyfriend’s eyes.

He hadn’t exaggerated when he told Fidds that he and Ford couldn’t even be in the same room when the twins first moved into their new home. It was a miracle if a day went by without Stan doing something to inadvertently set his brother off. While they had decided to try and make things work between them, all it took was a reminder of the past for things to get tense between them again

When Fidds finaly arrived, he lasted about a week before he took matters into his own hands. After a particularly nasty argument between the twins that had almost ended in a fistfight, Fidds had made Stan some tea, sat him down, and, managing to be very intimidating for someone so scrawny, made him explain everything. He could still picture Fidds’ initial reaction when Stan told him that his pa kicked him out. The shock, then the sorrow so raw that it was as if he could feel Stan’s own pain, then the chilling glare that took over his features when Fidds told him to _stay right there, now, I’ll just be a moment_.

Less than a minute later, he heard Fiddleford screaming at his brother as if he was about to rip his head off. There’d been so much heat in it, Stan found himself rushing up the stairs to make sure Fiddleford wasn’t going to start exchanging blows with Ford. It had been the first time Stan had heard Fiddleford yell and give Ford talking to that would’ve made their ma proud.

The brothers had been forced to talk out their issues, with Fidds glaring down at them any time they tried to step out of line or fight. They continued like that for hours, until somehow, Stan and Ford had actually ended up hugging things out, a tired yet proud Fidds grinning at them.

He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he’d begun to see Fidds as something more than just some bookwormy dork with a banjo after that.

To be honest, it warmed him to see that Fidds still got pissed at the mention of it, and Stan couldn't help but snort in amusement. “Easy, Fiddlesticks. That’s all in the past now.”

Fidd huffed. He wore a cute pout as he folded his arms over his chest. “Then why on earth are ya bringin’ it up now?” The realization hit him before Stan could reply, his eyes widening. “Oh, darlin’. You saw that memory?”

“Not exactly.”

Fidds waited, arching an eyebrow.

“He hurt ya real bad. My pa, I mean. And…Ford was there, an’ he was just…letting it happen. I-I couldn’t protect ya. I couldn’t do _anything_ …”

Stan’s lip wobbled. Fucking hell, he wasn’t gonna cry again, especially not twice in one day! He was a man, _damnit_. He—

“Now, ya listen to me, Stanley Pines,” said Fidds, his voice a soothing balm over his pain. “An’ ya listen well. Yer brother is not gonna kick you out again, an’ he would never let any of us get hurt. An’ even on the wild chance that somethin’ possess Stanferd to even try to do so, well…He’ll haveta deal with _me_.”

“It ain’t just that, Fidds. I…back with the gnomes, and with this stuff today, I…I wasn’t able to be there in time. The only thing I’m good for is punchin’ an’ liftin’ things. If I can’t protect ya and Ford, then…”

“You hush. Yer so much more than that to me, hon, an’ I reckon Stanferd would agree with me.” He placed his forehead over Stan’s. Fidds had to move his head at an awkward angle so his antlers didn’t get stuck on Stan’s horns, but they managed it, in the end. “So I don’t want to be listenin’ to that nonsense, ya hear?”

Stan let himself relax, uncoil all the tension that held his body taut. “Yeah. Okay.” Then, in a whisper:

“I love ya, Fiddlesticks.”

“I love ya too, darlin’. How about the two of us get some rest?”

Stan yawned. “Sounds good to me.”

His lips curled into a content smile as he drifted off, knowing Fidds was snug and safe in his arms.

*

On the third morning of the transformation incident, the trio found themselves in the kitchen, Fiddleford at the table coaxing himself awake with a cup of coffee, and Stan just leaning back on his chair as he watched his twin pace. The sun had bun to rise, soft rays exposing the small specs of dust floating in the air, which would disperse whenever Stanford walked through.

A week had passed, and thankfully, all of their wounds were healed. Not only had Stan’s cracks mended, but gold lines trailed his back where the cracks had been. Fiddleford had a hell of a time talking Stan down from trying to chip it off himself to see if it was real, and even more of an issue when Stanford heard the argument and tried to get some off Stan to run some tests. The three of them had run so many tests on themselves that Fiddleford found himself getting burned out. Finding a cure was apparently more complicated than they’d thought.

So, he couldn’t help but place his head on the table and groan when Stanford broke the bad news.

“It seems like we may be stuck like this for a while.”

Fiddleford lifted his head to frown down at their notes, sighing into his coffee cup. “Well, at least we ain’t suffering any severe side effects.”

“Y’mean aside from Ford and his new riddle obsession?”

“As long as he ain’t eatin’ nobody, I reckon it ain’t the worst thing.”

Stanley shrugged. “Eh, true. And hey, I gotta admit, this is kinda cool, bein’ like this.”

“Speak fer yerself,” said Fiddleford, whose antlers had been getting caught in the top of doorframes all week. “It’s to darn hot fer me to have this much fur.”

“While I do share your sentiment, Fiddleford,” said Stanford. “This does give us a wonderful opportunity to continue to study our new conditions. Perhaps we’ll find a cure then.”

Stanley had that goofball grin on his face. He pulled in Fiddleford with one arm and Ford with the other. “Hey, if anybody can figure this out, it’s you two nerds.”

Stanford smiled at his twin, adjusting his glasses. “You just want us to do all the work.”

“That too.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Yer still comin’ with us to that cave, so don’t ya start thinkin’ we’ll just let ya lay around the shack.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s so special about this cave, anyhow?”

Stanford playfully shoved Stanley away. “It had some very interesting inscriptions on the wall, and a few spells I have yet to add to the journals. Some of them even appeared to be prehistoric! I managed to catch a glance at some of them while I was chasing Mothman.”

“He still hasn’t paid ya back?” said Fiddleford, raising his I-told-ya-so eyebrow.

Stanford cleared his throat rather quickly. “That’s not important. There was a curious mural in particular that drew my attention, of a strange creature we haven’t encountered yet, that may be native to Gravity Falls. If anything, it’ll at least provide insight on the town’s history.”

“Sounds creepy. I’m in,” said Stan. He gave Fiddeford a gentle nudge. “Ya feelin’ up to it, Fiddles?”

Stanford paused, catching on to Stan’s soft tone. He gave Fiddleford a reassuring smile. “If you’re not feeling it, buddy, I’ll understand.”

Fiddleford took a moment to appreciate the moment. He realized, not for the first time, how fortunate he was to be here, doing what he did with two of his favorite people in the world. How he could ever convince himself, even for a moment, that he didn’t belong here amongst the strange and the unknown with the Pines, was beyond him.

“And leave the two of ya alone wanderin’ some caves unsupervised? I think not.”

This was his home, his life.

He wouldn’t change it for the world.

*

Psssttt...check out my [Tumblr](https://introvert-no-chameleon.tumblr.com/) if ya wanna ask me stuff. Or send me memes. Either one works. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's a wrap, folks!
> 
> Originally, I was just going to have them turn back, but I wanted to leave it like this in case I decide to play with this concept in the future. I want more Mystery Trio shenanigans, after all--just thinking of these three boys adventuring (and not going through 30 years of insanity and PTSD) warms my cold heart. I also wrote a small scene about the gnome attack, so I'll probs post that too and tag this as a series. A huge thanks to everybody who showed so much interest in this fic, it was a fun story and I wouldn't have thought of adding to it if it weren't for you guys!
> 
> I have a Gravity Falls/Rick and Morty fic I've been dying to start coming up, so that'll probably be my next long fic, so if post-canon Pines and Sanchez/Smith family interaction...stay tuned!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do Mystery Trio! Fiddlestan and Monster Falls, so I just thought, "why not both"? And here we are now. 
> 
> Comment on what monster we all think Fidds should be, and I may do a second part. I've read some people make him a scarecrow, and I considered making him a centaur. (EDIT 7/31/20 It has been decided! Thanks, everybody!)


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